


Fragments of Glass and Dreams

by On_earth_we_remain



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Andy | Andromache of Scythia Needs a Hug, Background Nicky/Joe, Chronic Pain, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Memory Loss, Modern AU, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Has Catholic Guilt, No one's immortal, Rating May Change, andromaquynh, inspired by Lilo's idea, yes i have chronic pain, yes im projecting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29295972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/On_earth_we_remain/pseuds/On_earth_we_remain
Summary: “What? You finally decided I’m more trouble than I’m worth?”He spares a glance her way. “Never.”The worst part is she knows he means it. He’s known her for at least a decade by now, and she’s known him for the year of her life that she can remember. Really remember, anyways. She makes a little strangled noise, but reaches over and rubs his shoulder.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova & Quynh | Noriko, Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko, Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	1. Coffee and Aftershave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilolilyrae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilolilyrae/gifts).
  * Inspired by [this prompt](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/757089) by lilolilyr. 



Andy wakes up in her own bed. It’s early, she can tell that much; the sunlight is just barely peeking around the beige curtains, and the stiffness in her limbs still feels like sand, tempting her to stay here, hold still as long as she can, and maybe, just maybe, the day will never really start. Joe and Nicky aren’t awake yet, the house is quiet, only disturbed by the little noises of the house shifting, the heat clicking on. Winters are always hard, in general, the cold makes her want to grab all that she loves, bury it along with herself deep under the covers and stay there until things become green again. Especially after last year, when winter comes, everything hurts, almost constantly.

She admits defeat, she is well and truly awake now. Fantastic. Rolls over, grabs her phone, begins to slowly adjust to consciousness again. She has a missed text from Booker, but since the text came in at 2:30 in the morning, she’s gonna go out on a limb and assume it’s not too time sensitive, most likely he got a little too drunk or a little too alone and wanted a shoulder to cry on for a bit. She notices an email from her doctor’s office, a reminder of her appointment later today. As if she could forget, she knows better now, has important things written down on her mirror so she sees them the second her day starts. She doesn’t forget things anymore. She can’t. 

Testing the waters, she sits up, flexing her legs and shoulders. Doesn’t seem like a bad pain day, so far at least, everything moving properly, the ache dull and constant, but a little removed, like it hasn’t fully decided if it’s going to ruin her day or not yet. Swings her legs down to the floor, hesitantly standing up, gently stretching, rolling her neck and yawning. Okay, coffee is in order first, then she’ll move onto the ever-growing pile of things that need to get done. She crosses the room, pulling on her go-to outfit, black leggings, a grey hoody. Warm, thick socks. She’s not entirely sure, but since the accident, warmth seems to help keep some of the pain at bay, and while she misses the days she could run around in tight jeans and a tank top, this is safe. Keeps her warm and protected, and everyone’s eyes off her. 

As she pulls the ground coffee out of the bag, water warming up in the pot, Nicky stumbles, rubbing his eyes, out of his and Joe’s shared room, still only in an undershirt and boxers. After everything happened, once she was able to come back home, Nicky and Joe moved in, gently helping her relearn the world around her. It felt dirty at first, patronizing and frustrating to have two people she loved most see her always at her worst, like a child. But, after that first month, she realized how much she loved coming home to people, how much she had missed it. Growing up in a big family, Andy had always had plenty of company, shared a room with one of her sisters. Had always grumbled and griped as a teenager that she never had any privacy, no space to herself, and how is she supposed to become her own person with everyone always interfering Mom. And then, almost overnight, she spent most of her twenties on her own, self-sufficient, independent. It was a nice lie she told herself, that she was alone because she chose it, she was capable of being on her own, all the time. But now, it was nice, even if Nicky and Joe couldn’t keep their hands off each other, to come home to warmth, and good food, and people to talk to excitedly about their days. 

“Good morning, you’re up early,” Nicky commented as he started the kettle for his tea. Andy and Joe could and would easily finish off two pots of coffee each, but Nicky insisted that tea worked just as well and didn’t make him want to vibrate out of his skin. 

“Yeah, I know,” she rasped. The coffee wasn’t done, and Andy was never really ready for words before at least two cups, “Just one of those mornings, I guess.” 

Nicky hummed in agreement, looking at her in that gentle way that almost made her punch him the first time she saw it after the accident. She’s come to learn (remember?) that that’s just how Nicky is, always wanting to give gentleness and kindness to everyone he meets. Even if, in Andy’s humble opinion, they don’t deserve it. 

“Sleep okay, though? No nightmares?” he asked as he poured the water over his very specifically prepared tea, grated ginger and a spoonful of honey along with two bags of chai. She’s learned not to question his intricate morning ritual. 

“Yeah, yeah, no nightmares. Least, not any I remember,” she said, a little less grumpy as she swigs down still steaming hot, black coffee. He winces in sympathy, whether at her answer or what he considers a monstrosity of a drink, she’s not really sure. He pulls the coffee pot after her, filling a second cup about half full of coffee, before loading it with brown sugar, cayenne, and about a cup of creamer. He smiles at her. 

“Well, that’s good news, I suppose. Progress, right? Let me hand this over to Joe, and I’ll be back, and we can go over the to-do list for today. You skipped your stretches yesterday, you know he’s gonna make you do them today.” He raises an eyebrow, that small, soft smile appearing again as she faux whines, rolling her eyes. 

“My PT says I don’t have to worry about stretching on bad pain days and Joe knows it,” she’s mostly bantering. Mostly. Nicky yields, raising his hands in surrender, and pads quietly back to their room. Andy takes the moment to disappear into the bathroom, where, after finishing her morning routine, takes a moment to take stock. Written on the mirror in neon orange chalk marker is the list for the day. 

Andy:Get UR Shit Done  
PT Aptt TMRW @ 11  
TEXT BOOKER BACK  
Grocery shopping: talk to N  
Laundry 

She hums, looking at it. Okay, manageable day. And considering that she’s still standing, still only faint twinges running down her leg and back, she should be able to get everything done today. On a whim, she pulls her hoody over her head, takes a minute to take stock of her body. Her body. Sometimes, it still feels like a stranger, someone she stepped into after the accident, someone who she wasn’t meant to be. She twists, looking at how thin she is, how the scars that run along her arms and back meet, only to settle below her pants. There’s a single scar that runs right under her eye, barely noticeable unless you know you’re looking for it. She can see her ribs, poking out every time she breathes, and idly wonders if this is how she’ll always look, always feel about her body. Wonders if it’s normal to see that much of your bones through your skin. She rubs her thumb against the tattoo, the first one she got after the accident, a reminder that even if she feels like a stranger, it is hers. It’s black, a simple linework piece, running along one of the more prominent scars on her forearm, wildflowers surrounding a medieval axe; along the handle are the initials of everyone important in her life. So she can’t forget again. 

She can hear Nicky working around the kitchen, and throws her hoody back on, stepping out of the bathroom to meet him. No reason to make him worry. He looks up, smiling, but continues his work, cleaning up the dishes from last night, and from the looks of it, prepping a dough for dinner tonight. She felt bad, at first, that Nicky would clean and cook, and damn near do everything else, but after the one day where she tried to clean the dishes and proceeded to break half of them, she has learned to let him. 

“Okay, boss,” he says easily, looking up when she sits herself down, still cradling her coffee. “What’s on the list today?” 

She takes a sip before answering. “Easy day. PT, laundry, grocery shopping. And I have to text Booker back, I’ve been ignoring his texts for a couple days too many.” 

Nicky tenses for a second, easily missed, before relaxing again. “Well, that is an easy day. I take it you need me for getting to your appointment and grocery shopping?” She nods. “Molto bene, we can tackle both back to back. Maybe shopping first, and then I can drop you off?” 

“Yeah, that works. Might not have the energy after my appointment to venture into the hell that is a grocery store,” Nicky snorts at that, and for a minute she thinks she might have a flash of Before, another time she made Nicky make that noise. Even without the before, it continues to endear him to her, that last little bit of humanity that he shows her every day. 

“Joe up yet? Wanted to see if he’s up to do stretches before my appointment,” she asks, leaning back against the chair and letting her eyes slip close for a moment. Even with the coffee, exhaustion thrums against her limbs, and for a moment she considers not being a person, ignoring the to-do list, and going back to bed. 

Nicky breaks the moment for her, “Yes, he woke up to the smell of the coffee I brought him. But you know how he is, give it another oh, 30 minutes?” 

“Good, maybe me suggesting it first will be enough that he won’t get on my ass for yesterday,” she smiles as she watches Nicky move on to preparing a few baked goods for the shop. Since everything, Nicky has taken to baking half at the store, half at home, dropping things off after his and Andy’s morning ritual. She always enjoys watching him work, his hands kneading dough, spreading sugar and cinnamon and good smells across their kitchen. They drop into an easy silence, Nicky doing what he does best, taking care of people, while Andy pulls up one of the many memory game apps on her phone, doing her best to keep up the arduous homework her therapist keeps assigning her. Eventually, after her fourth failed attempt, Joe stumbles out of their room, smelling of sweet coffee and aftershave. He smiles at both of them, eyes crinkling at the edges, and rubs his face. 

“Morning, loves,” he slides easily into the chair next to Andy’s, peering at the game. Anyone else, and she would threaten their life, or their balls, but she knows Joe is never coming with judgement or pity. He’s just the most curious and nosy motherfucker she’s ever had the pleasure of knowing. “Ohh, that one again, huh?” 

“Yeah, that one again, Joe,” she smiles back instinctively, his energy bounding into her, along with the comfort he always is willing to give.  
“Well, you’ve made progress, and I’m speaking from experience when I say that app in general is out to make everyone’s lives harder,” he glares at the app, as if it is personally offensive to him that it isn’t nicer to Andy. She cackles, turning her phone off and stretching. 

“Alright, you wanna do this, kid?” 

“Andy, how many times do I have to tell you that I’m older than you?” he grumbles, laughing all the while. She steps up, grabbing the bluetooth speaker and yoga mats for the both of them. 

“Only in this life,” she throws back. And with that, they get to work. 

* * *  
Nicky starts the car up, letting it run while Andy grabs her bag from under the coat rack. It’s been easier for her not to forget by keeping everything in one spot, and the three of them decided the easiest option was a backpack. Small front pocket for wallet, keys, and anything else she might need for day to day, big pocket for the slew of paperwork, notebooks, and snacks that inevitably comes with seeing three different doctors and still needing help remembering all the little things that come with being a person. She climbs into the passenger seat, ducking her head and shifting anxiously in her seat. Nicky spares a glance at her, wordlessly passes her the aux cord. A little of the tension eases, and she laughs at the face he makes as she queues up Saint Bernard by Lincoln. 

“Really? Your angst playlist, again?” Even with the complaint, she can tell he’s not too upset at her near constant repetition of the same playlist as they leave the apartment, his finger tapping against the steering wheel to the beat. 

“What? You finally decided I’m more trouble than I’m worth?” 

He spares a glance her way. “Never.” 

The worst part is she knows he means it. He’s known her for at least a decade by now, and she’s known him for the year of her life that she can remember. Really remember, anyways. She makes a little strangled noise, but reaches over and rubs his shoulder.  
As they enter the grocery store, the bright lights and loudness of the space immediately puts Andy on red alert. Instinctively, she reaches for Nicky’s hand, holding on to him with both of hers. He rubs a thumb soothingly over the top of her hand, but otherwise leaves it alone. 

“You have the list?” he asks, and she nods, pulling her phone out with one hand, still hanging onto him. He grabs a cart, and they make their ways through the isles, slowly. Nicky, even if he doesn’t understand entirely, knows how it feels to be overwhelmed by noise and by light; how quickly that stimulation can turn sour, can turn to panic. He also remembers the first time Andy and he went to a store after, when she got lost, got overwhelmed, and ended up having a panic attack, curled up on the cold tile, so vulnerable, so different from the Andy Before. He had made a vow, after that day, to make sure he would do whatever was needed to help Andy get through this. Whatever it took. Whatever it takes. 

He’s pulled from that first time to this one, as Andy slowly lets go of his hand to feel a few of the tomatoes in the produce section, checking the firmness and freshness. Andy looks to him, making sure he’s still there, before continuing on. He follows behind her, letting her make the decisions about produce, keeping a close eye on the time. 

“Andy, it’s 15 ‘til, we gotta get a move on,” he clears his throat, those old, painful memories still stuck. Andy glances up at him, sees that flash she’s seen so many times, a wistful, tragic look that she never has context for. Maybe it’s something from Before, maybe after. Either way, neither of them will have anything good to say bringing up old wounds under fluorescent lights and tinny music. She nods, and they make their way to the checkout, letting Nicky take the lead again. 

Since, so far at least, her body has been cooperating today, she helps him load the groceries into the backseat of the car. She glances up, hearing a disgruntled noise crawl out of Nicky, and sees a man, walking, no stalking towards the two of them. 

“Hey, assholes, the handicapped parking spot is for, ya know, handicapped people, who the fuck do you think you are?” he advances, stopping in front of Andy and she immediately has her hackles up. In another life, this guy would already have met the pavement under her feet. But it’s this life, so instead she opts for her easiest, get-me-the-fuck-out-of-this-conversation answer. 

Crossing her arms, she looks him up and down, “Who the fuck’s to say I’m not, asshole?” 

“Well... you don’t look disabled,” he splutters indignantly, looking her up and down. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, please feel free to tell me exactly what disabled looks like,” she laughs, a short, antagonizing noise. He seems to be realizing his mistake. Or he’s realizing that, now that he’s closer to him, Nicky has height and strength on him. 

“Uh... well...you know, like, wheelchairs?” he’s backing up now, and a smirk is spreading across Andy’s face, watching his fall. 

“OH. Oh my god. Of course. Wheelchairs. I’ll be sure to bring mine next time. Just for you.” His face is red, and muttering apologies, starts to walk away. Andy turns to Nicky, his face a quiet fury. Anyone else would assume he was slightly aggravated. By now, Andy can tell that Nicky was one step away from eviscerating the man. 

“You good?” she raises an eyebrow his way. 

“Yeah, yeah, sto bene,” his breathing is calming down now. Good. He gestures to the car. “We’re gonna be late though.” 

“Fuck!” Andy finishes loading the groceries as Nicky takes the cart back to the cart return, and Andy jumps back into her seat. 

“I know you can fight your own battles, but, you would let me know if you wanted me to step in, yes?” he twists his hands anxiously against the steering wheel, and she can see he’s grimacing, guilt pouring off him in waves. Catholics. 

“Nicky, no,” she lets out softly. “You already do so much for me, you do not need to feel guilty about letting me speak for myself. Even if it’s just to call assholes out. Promise.”  
He lets out a breath as she reaches across the console to push his hair out of his face, and she breathes with him. “I know it sucks, trust me. But you don’t gotta do anything but be you. That alone helps me, you know that.” 

“I know, I know,” he sighs out. They drive the rest of the way to the physical therapist in silence, not uncomfortable, really. Just not enough time to say all that there is to say.  
* * *  
“You’re doing great today, Andromache,” Dr. Copley smiles encouragingly as Andy winces and grumbles her way through the session. “You’ve been doing your stretches at home, haven’t you?” 

“Yeah, only because my roommate is somehow more annoying than you are about doing them,” she huffs out as she rolls onto her other side, stretching one leg down and the other up to her chest. Even with the year she’s had to recover, her hips and back still twinge after an intense session, and right now it feels like her hip flexor is trying to dig its way out of the discomfort, through her. Copley only gives a quiet laugh, pushing down on her leg a second longer before releasing it. 

“Alright, we’re almost there for the day, just need to check in about the messy stuff,” he announces as she lets herself go limp against the mat on the floor. She covers her eyes with her arm, pushing the sweat off her face. 

“Oh you mean my feelings?” she mumbles, pushing herself up onto her elbows and fixing him with that stare that seems to make him scared to ask every time. It never fails to amuse her when it does. 

“Yes, Andromache, your feelings,” he crosses the room, pulling her folder and a notepad off his desk. 

“Now, in the past week since we last met, have you had any changes to your sleep schedule, eating schedule?” 

“No and no, although my nightmares haven’t been as bad lately,” she muses as she downs a bottle of water near her. He nods in approval, makes a note. 

“That’s good, Andromache, that’s progress,” he looks up for a moment. “And your job? How’s that going?” 

For the first time since getting to therapy, a real smile crosses her face. “ It’s going well, the dogs are all good boys.” Once she actually started to be a person again, her friend Nile had offered her a job working with her at a dog rehabilitation center, helping dogs who had gone through different kinds of trauma to become therapy dogs. It was the first place outside of her home with Nicky and Joe that had felt safe, and she still relishes the days that she can spend quietly teaching them how to sit, stay, and learn body language (and spoil them with treats when Nile isn’t looking, of course).

“That’s good to hear. Have you given any more thought to going to the group sessions?” He looks pointedly at her as she winces; she knew the question was coming, it always came, but. 

“I just, don’t think I can sit there for an hour and listen to tragic fucking stories about all the different ways people can become broken, it’s not anything personal,” she downs the rest of her water to avoid saying any more, anything that she might regret. 

Copley isn’t buying it though. “Andromache, I think it would help a lot. And generally, the group sessions aren’t sitting around talking about how people got hurt. And you’re not broken.” 

She can’t help but roll her eyes. “I couldn’t even get out of bed three days ago and you’re trying to tell me I’m not broken.”  
The nice thing about Copley (or if you asked Andy, the really annoying thing about Copley) is that he can tell when someone is bullshitting him. He fixes her with an unimpressed look. 

“Look. I’m not saying you have to talk, or even listen if you don’t want to. I can’t imagine anyone could make you do anything you don’t want to. And I know your roommates have been really supportive and helpful. But sometimes, when we are healing, it helps to have someone who has been through similar experiences. Someone who can sympathize in a way others can’t. And a lot of people who come to the group sessions are really amazing people.”  
She holds his stare for a moment, before dropping it, staring down at her hands. They’re trembling, slightly, and she clenches them tightly, before sagging back down onto the mat. 

“Fine. I’ll go. One session,” she looks at him. “And if I’m right, and it sucks, I’m reserving the right to kick your ass when I can.” 

He chuckles, puts his notebook down to hold out his hand. “Alright, Andromache, you have a deal. Group meets tomorrow at 11. Go ahead and write that down so you can’t use forgetting as an excuse.”


	2. Old Nightmares and Sleepy Dogs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, just a heads up, this chapter does have a flashback scene, depicting not super graphic but kinda(?) scary stuff so pls take care of yourself! Also, I'm so sorry for any confusion from my tags, like I said, still figuring out how to use ao3 and not doing a great job lmao.

_The crunch and grind of metal is the only thing she can hear over the blood rushing through her ears._

_Wait, no there’s also someone screaming, a wild, animal noise. Wait. That noise is coming from her._

_She can’t move, why can’t she fucking move? All she can see is red and flashes of yellow light from... somewhere. It seems like gasoline, and holy shit holy shit. There’s something wrong, everything hurts. She tries to move her head, tries to do anything but she can’t._

_“BOOKER???” she tries for a scream, but in here it just sounds like a whimper. “Please, no, no, no, I can’t lose him too.”_

_Somethings happening, she can hear more metal grinding in ways that it probably shouldn’t._

_What the fuck? There’s a giant noise, suddenly, and all she can see is light, headlights, coming right at her and she can’t fucking move, why can’t she move, what the fu-_

Andy wakes up with a gasp, trembling. That one really never gets easier.

Gripping her bedsheet, she sits up, gagging on the smell of gasoline that still sits in her nose. She gulps in a breath, a ragged and fragile thing, as her brain starts to catch back up to now. It’s dark out, still the middle of the night. And she’s okay, it was just a dream. Just another goddamn dream.

Breath evening out, she becomes aware of a twinge. Fuck, she must’ve been curled up in one place for too long, her hip is protesting against her right now, and fucking winning. Her leg involuntarily shudders, kicking against the bed and she slumps back down, trying to let it relax.

“Fuck.” she feels defeated.

It had been weeks, no blood, no gas, no nightmares of pain haunting her sleep. And now, well. She’s a little glad, in the midst of trying to get her body to listen to reason, that she has stopped screaming awake when this happens.

That she no longer wakes up the entire house along with her, doesn’t have to worry about trying to make garbled sentences for Joe and Nicky. She fumbles her hand through the sheets, damp from her sweat and tangled around her, finally finding her phone under the layers.

The light takes a minute to adjust to, but she can tell that it’s 3:30 in the morning.

Too early to commit to getting up, but with her heart still trying to fight whatever danger’s around, it’s not likely that sleep will become an option any time soon. She rolls over, trying to let her leg stretch out instead of shuddering in pain. She groans, letting the pain roll over her, the aftershocks working their way through as her leg slowly, agonizingly slowly, stops trembling.

She peers at her phone again, seeing another 2:30 text from Booker. Honestly, as much as she had been hoping to avoid this specific issue (just one more day, she swore she would text him back tomorrow) it actually would be a decent distraction from dealing with the combination fight or flight/pain attack. She opens the conversation.

_Jan. 31,5:00 PM_   
**B: Hey, Andy, call me when you get this okay?**

_Sat., 1:27 AM_   
**B: Hey, can u a t leasy tell me ur gettin these pls? I miss yoy**

_Yesterday, 2:36 AM_   
**B: I’m sorry, Andy. I knoww u dont wanna talk rn. Fuck ur prob aslep. Srry**

_Today, 2:48 AM_   
**B: Hey. I uh, wanted to let you know about something. Call me when you can okay?**

She winces.

She knew she had been putting it off, pretty efficiently ghosting Booker for the better part of the year, had to, at first, partly because she couldn’t use her hands, partly because Joe is a fucking pitbull when it comes to protecting those he loves, and partly because Booker was, is... well, a complicated part of her.

Even with the gaps of memory, the fuzzy parts of her that might not ever come back, she knows Booker is family. Knows him about as well as she knows herself, although, she wonders what exactly that counts for, lately. Her fingers start and stop, running through different variations of the same sentence, over and over again.

_Today, 3:47 AM_   
**Hey. Sorry I’ve been AWOL. Trying to do better. I can meet u tmrw, after 3:30? Gotta thing before.**

She sighs, thumps her phone against the bed. Of course the night before that stupid fucking group thing is the night everything comes back up, and now she’ll be going to that exhausted and barely able to sit for the entire thing.

She groans again for good measure, slumping back down against the damp pillow.

“Your name is Andromache. You were born March 23, 1992. You live with Joe and Nicky. You grew up on Dogwood Street. You have four sisters. You are alive. Your name is Andromache. You were born March 23, 1992. You live with Joe and Nicky. You grew up on Dogwood Street...”

She repeats it, her mantra, a few more times. It had been suggested by... a therapist, she thinks, in the early days, suggesting it would help ground her to her sense of self if she started feeling detached or disassociated.

Generally, it does, but lately it’s been more akin to counting sheep, a repetitive whisper she lets out into the night to cover up the sounds of all that anxious pain that vibrates under her skin.

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, only waking up to her alarm blaring, a vicious, unrepentant sound.  
Gingerly, she gets up. Same process, although with last night, her movements are slowed to a crawl, sitting down to pull sweats and socks on, wincing at how the hardwood floors feel under the weight of her body.

Everything hurts. Not like sand, but like someone shoved legos where her joints should be, and they’re crumbling with every step she takes, her weight too much for her own fucking bones to handle.

As she trudges to the bathroom, all that she can think, all she can hear is that fucking voice; _weak, weak, weak_.

____________________________________

Andy slumps out of the car, waving slightly as Nicky drives off. She looks up at the very obviously underfunded building in front of her, covered eclectically in bright splashes of paint, and on one side, a realistic portrait of a pitbulls smiling face.

She takes a deep breath, opening the door to the sounds and smells of twenty dogs, and the maybe four humans who're responsible for them. She lifts her eyes from where they had been sticking resolutely to the ground to see Nile.

“Andy, hey!” Nile’s grinning, hair pulled back under a beanie, obligatory thermos of coffee in her hand as she turns the corner. “Good to see you as always.”

Andy manages a small smile. Nile is like the fucking sun, and right now all that love and warmth is beaming right onto her. It’s nice, really nice, but also not quite enough of a distraction from the everything else that is her life.

“Hey, Nile,” letting her mouth swallow the words back in. “Where you want me today, kid?”

Nile hums it over thoughtfully, as if she hadn’t decided everything based on the two seconds of Andy she’s seen today. “I think if you’re cool with it, you mind hanging out with the old boys today? They could use you.”

Andy almost crumples to the floor with relief, and honestly, if it had just been her and Nile in the lobby, definitely would have. The senior dogs were the easiest group here, most of them content to give you love as long as they could also sleep on your lap.

And maybe sneak them treats every time you saw them .

“Yeah, that works for me, I do gotta be outta here by 2:30 today, have a doctor thing,” Andy wonders if by not calling therapy therapy it’ll suck less. She’ll have to see if that actually works.

  
“Yeah, for sure, not a problem, I can swing by around then to let you go,” Nile winks at her and turns down the hall to the puppy room, where she and another co-worker (damn, Andy thinks, I really gotta write their names down soon) will be training them on the basics of being a dog before focusing in on the tougher stuff.

She grabs a mug of coffee on her way in, pulling it as she opens the garage door to keep the space open for the dogs. They’ll be able to come in and out as they please, have free reign of their space while Andy cares for them.

Letting the dogs out one by one, she actually smiles for real, this time, as Charlie waddles out of his kennel. Charlie, the love of her life, a twelve year old dachshund mix, ready to sit and listen to anyone’s problems and always climb into their lap the second he receives permission.

As the dogs make their rounds, Andy settles herself onto a worn in, worn down chair at the corner of the room. Pulls Charlie up into her lap when he comes around, and settles in for a quiet few hours.

She knows she’ll have to get up at some point, stretch a little if she wants to avoid her body rebelling against her more, but for now, she and Charlie are both content to sit in the quiet, listening to the other dogs snuffle and explore.

__________________________________

Andy leaves the kennel feeling a bit lighter, a little more ready to face the rest of the day. Being able to spend time with beings who wouldn’t question, wouldn’t judge, but just stay with her and accept her as she was, always seemed to heal her in a way she couldn’t explain.

Even though she mused grimly, the next hour would almost certainly be boring at best, upsetting at worst, she can tell that she’ll be able to survive it. Still a little stiff, she decided on an Uber to the meeting, even though it was only a few blocks away. Getting there five minutes til, she takes a moment to steel herself.

Andy’s always had walls, she knows that. She’s not entirely sure where they came from, but she’s always been just a little too scared of feelings to let all but a trusted few in. She remembers dimly, when Booker’s last girlfriend ended things, how she could feel sorrow radiate off him.

It had seemed too painful to touch, so she hadn’t. Let him drink it away with her by his side, watched out of the corner of her eye as he descended, and descended, and descended into his grief. Didn’t know how to handle it, handle him, so she didn’t. He’s an adult, she reasoned.

He can handle himself. If she had known how wrong she was, maybe, just maybe she would’ve tried reaching out into the electric wire that was his grief, his self-loathing.

  
Andy shakes her head, trying to get old memories out of it. God, she’s damn near turning into one of the dogs at the kennel at this point. Pushing her shoulders back and down, lifting her chin, she finally finds the courage to walk into this... thing.

Peering carefully into the room she takes stock of what’s in front of her. Chairs, mostly, though some of those standing desks? She thinks that’s what they’re called.

The room is set up in a semi-circle, a table to the side with coffee, tiny creamer cups, and a box of, from the looks of it, slightly old donuts. There’s a handful of people milling about, a few in wheelchairs, a few with vibrant scars (like you, her brain supplies unhelpfully). She turns around in the space, taking a second when...

Oh. Oh fuck. There’s a full 30 seconds where all her brain supplies is the old Dial-Up noise that computers used to make. Sitting on the edge of the chairs is a woman. No, not a woman, _the most beautiful_ woman she’s ever seen.

She’s small, Andy can see that even with her sitting down, slightly hunched into herself. Her eyes are dark, and wicked sharp looking, a dark brown that would threaten to drown you if you held onto them for too long. She’s dressed wonderfully simply, a crop-top, fraying at the bottom, and loose joggers, tapering down to hug against her calves.

Andy realizes why Joe’s always writing in his notebook, because she’s realizing that of course, if you saw something or someone this beautiful all the time, of course you’re going to wanna talk about it, right? And... OH fuck, she’s staring.

No, she’s definitely been staring for way too long. The woman is looking back at her, too, her head cocked to the side a little, and smirking. At. Andy.

She hears a throat clear, breaking her from her reverie.

“Alright, welcome everyone, please find a place that’s comfortable for you and we can get started. My name is Victoria, but you can call me Vicky. Today’s session is going to be focusing on....”

Whatever today’s session is going to be focusing on, Andy isn’t really sure. She’s never been one for focusing, preferring to work with her hands, move around. Not sit still and listen. Carefully, she looks sideways at the woman again. She’s also looking back at Andy.

Oh, fuck. Okay, she’ll just. Sit still... Looking down, she notices that she’s both picking at her fingernails, and jiggling her leg. Off to a great start, then.

“And would you like to introduce yourself?” the person leading the session is looking at her. Aw, fuck.

“Um, yeah,” she looks up, around at the rest of the people who had somehow managed to fade to background noise since she walked in. “I’m Andromache...” she looks back again, and the smaller woman is still looking at her. “But, you can call me Andy...”

Having lost the last bit of confidence that had been clinging to her, she wrapped her arms around herself, ducking her head down.

“Alright Andy, it’s great to meet you! If you’d like, you’re welcome to go first, talk about whatever’s on your mind,” the lady, umm, Veronica(?), no, is still staring at her.

“Um, I really don’t, I mean, what do you want me to talk about?” Andy asks, brow furrowed. As much as she’d like to, she’s assuming that ‘whatever’s on your mind’ doesn’t apply to the most striking woman she’s ever seen.

“Well, you can talk about why you’re here today, what you’re hoping to get out of it,” Vanessa(okay, Andy’s giving up on names, forever), supplies.

“Okay, well, um, I guess like a year and a half ago I was in a car wreck. Really bad, uh, got my shit wrecked. Oh, fuck, sorry for swearing.”

Whatever-her-name-is smiles. Off to the side, the other woman is snickering. “Honestly, Andy, I don’t think anyone here really cares too much about swearing. Please, continue.”

“Alright, cool, well, after the crash I was in a coma for three days. When I woke up, I didn’t really remember anything. I couldn’t read, couldn’t write. I mean, I couldn’t walk without help. Still can’t some days, I guess. But like, I’m fine. I can do all that and more now. Like, I know I got really lucky, and yeah, sometimes it sucks but like, that’s life right? It is what it is.”

She spares a glance at the woman on the edge of the group. She’s not trying to hide her staring anymore, instead looking at Andy with a look so tender it makes her want to cry. Or kick at something until her heart stops squeezing in her chest.

“Well, that’s a really scary thing that happened to you, and I’m sorry that it did,” whats-her-name says, breaking the moment. “Would you like to delve further into your experience, or receive support today?”

Andy blinks. “Uh, I guess support?” Anything that doesn’t involve her speaking more about all the glass and metal and fire seems like the safest option.

She lets the voices wash over her, still sparing glances to the side now and then. It’s still hard to focus, to actually absorb any of what she's supposed to be absorbing right now, but, she muses, her face getting hot, she thinks she has a reason to show back up next week.

_________________________________

  
Finally, finally, the session ends, and Andy stands up, stretching her limbs and peering around again. The woman she couldn’t stop staring at had disappeared five minutes before the end, and she tried to quell her disappointment. Anyone who could short circuit her brain like that had to be interesting, and maybe, if she played her cards right, would have given Andy her phone number.

As she maneuvers her way through the building, she’s stopped at the door. There she is, that small, beautiful woman, hunched on the stoop of the building entrance, loosely holding a cigarette. She looks up as Andy walks near.

“Ah, hello,” she’s grinning, is she actually grinning? At Andy?

“Hi, um, I don’t think I got your name, I’m Andy,” she chokes out.

“Yes, I know, probably because I didn’t give it,” she muses as she pulls on the cigarette. “It’s Quynh, pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s, uh, nice to meet you too,” Andy stammers out. Man, she’s either really, really rusty at this, or maybe having a stroke?

Quynh smiles up at her. “You smoke?” She’s holding up her lit cigarette in Andy’s direction.

“No, but can I sit with you? Waiting on my ride,” when Quynh gestures as the spot on the cement stairs next to her, Andy gently lowers herself down. “You uh, didn’t talk during the session. Is that generally an option?”

Quynh snorts, “No, not usually, but they let me get away with it because they’re happy I’m there at all.”

Andy hums in understanding, taking a minute to get a closer look at her. She’s lithe, arms and stomach toned, her hair chopped sloppily short, and of course she manages to make it look effortless. She looks down, and sees scars, uniform and blinding against her tanned skin. Quynh looks down with her, and pulls her arms a little tighter to herself.

“Sorry,” Andy clears her throat. “I don’t mean to stare or be rude, you’re just so...”

Quynh must take her silence as judgement, her eyes narrowing, “I don’t accept pity, and I don’t owe you an explanation.” She shifts a little away from Andy, but mercifully doesn’t stand up and leave.

“I’m sorry, I was gonna say beautiful. Or intimidating. Or maybe another synonym for either of those. I’m sorry,” Andy stumbles over her words, trying to make sense of all the little facial expressions, all the movements of Quynh’s body. She has to believe her, and Andy would do whatever it took to make sure she did.

Quynh laughs, a quiet, fragile thing and Andy wonders what she’ll have to do to get her to make that noise again. “Alright, alright, I believe you. Sorry, it’s kinda exhausting fielding questions about my tragic backstory every day,” she rolls her eyes, but relaxes next to Andy again, rolling her cigarette around in her fingers.

“Trust me, I get it. Maybe one day we can trade battle wounds,” Andy shoots for a joking tone, but that current of want is right under it. She’s really playing with fire right now, she knows, but she can’t lose this chance.

“I’d like that,” Quynh shifts her focus back up to Andy’s face, taking her in. “Would you like to hang out, like, outside of this depressing excuse for a building?”

Andy smiles, and in that moment she wonders if this is what her doctor was talking about when he said she’d get a lot out of this group therapy. Probably not, but she’s past caring what he’d have to say.

“Absolutely, just give me a when and where, I’ll be there,” she’s distracted by a horn blaring, as a striking man pokes his head out of the driver’s window.

“Quynh let’s fucking gooooo,” he whines, looking at both of them. They look at each other, quickly exchanging numbers, and setting up a time and place to meet as Quynh stubs out her cigarette against the pavement. She hops up, starts to the car, she turns one more time to look at Andy.

“I’m glad you came today, Andromache,” she smiles again. “I think I’m going to look forward to coming to this a little bit more, now.”

With that she hops in the car, and waves as they drive away. Andy’s still floating on air, for a moment, until she remembers. She has another thing on her to-do list for today. And she doesn’t think it’s going to end the way this did.

Because now, it’s time to talk to Booker.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first fic, still learning the ins and outs. Am gonna shoot for an every other day update. Also, while I do deal with a lot of the things I write about in this fic, I don't go to PT or doctors in general so some of that stuff might not be totally right. This fic is def not gonna stay at the rating it's currently at, there will be flashback scenes depicting violence, and most likely some more fun stuff as well ;) Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think!


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